Chapter 3

Chapter 3: So the Kids Can Sneak Into the House With All the Cobwebs

         Lyla Chen was smaller than I imagined. Her shoulders were thin, hiding in a similar jumpsuit to mine, her lips were thin and pink, and she had this long, black hair down to her waist. It looked soft and silky, like whoever had put us here had washed and brushed it before wiping her memories.

         I don’t know what exactly we did to make the wall between us drop, what we did to make a door swing open. Maybe this place is on a timer and would have done it regardless?

         But I guess it doesn’t matter, does it? At the end of the day, we were free.

         At least we thought so.

         I didn’t know if past-Declan—the one that got himself into this hellscape—had ever held a girl’s hand before, but a sense of familiarity washed over me when I grasped Lyla’s hand. But I couldn’t focus on that. Or the sort of stirring in my gut. Or that Lyla was, in fact, quite pretty.

         Maybe in another life, I could have. But not this one. Not when we were so close to freedom.

         I pushed the feeling away, leading Lyla through the now-open doorway.

         The cold floor beneath my bare feet was quickly replaced with something…thick. Soft in an old, tired sort of way. Carpet? Confused, I looked down. My toes sunk into the beige shag carpeting.

         “What the hell?” I murmured.

         Lyla’s hand pulled into mine. When I looked up at her, she was running her hand along the faded wallpaper.

         “This is a joke, right?” She said, looking around for another camera. “We left the white room! What else do you want from us?”

         “Were we…in someone’s spare room?”

         She looked at me incredulously. “Oh, yeah, because people always keep naked kids in white rooms. Who needs a home office when you could have a futuristic prison cell?”

         “We don’t know what it’s like out there!” I retorted. “For all we know, parents keep their kids like that.”

         The thought made me shudder.

         “Except we aren’t siblings, Captain Dec. Different last names. Different races.” Without letting go of my hand, Lyla pushed a door left ajar open.

         We stepped into a living room. A perfectly normal one you might see on an old family sitcom. A couch against the wall, an old stained glass lamp, a coffee table cluttered with magazines.

         There was no TV. No photographs. No real sign of life.

         Neither one of us said anything, but we were squeezing each other’s hands so tightly our fingers were white.

         There was no sound. Not really. Just the hum of an air conditioner.

         The kitchen was small, the countertops clear. The wallpaper was torn away here. Not completely, but it looked like someone had ripped pieces off.

         A shudder went through me.

         I was just about to tell Lyla about it, when she let out a, “Dec…”

         I turned. Lyla was staring at the refrigerator, her mouth slightly open. On the white, two-doored fridge. Was a single message spelled out in colorful magnets—OPEN ME 

         “What the hell?” I swear, that was the only thing I was capable of saying in this place.

         Lyla swallowed hard. I could practically see the gears turning in her head. Open it and potentially die? Or leave it closed?

         “It might give us answers,” I said.

         She nodded.

         “We open it together,” I said. “If anything happens, at least it happens to both of us.”

         She gave me a look then. One that might’ve made me blush under different circumstances.

         We reached out the hands not holding each other and grasped the white handle of the refrigerator door.

         “One…”

         “Two…”

         I didn’t even wait for three, I just yanked the door open with my eyes clenched shut.

         “Okay, now…what the hell?”

         Lyla’s voice made me open my eyes. I followed her gaze to the inside of the fridge. The light inside was on, cold air rushed out of it. The only thing inside was an old, leather journal.

         She pulled it out and led me to one of the counters, not bothering to close the refrigerator door. She set it down so we could page through it without having to let go of each other. I might never let go of her again.

         The journal entries were total nonsense from what I could tell. Lots of frantic, jagged writing that really makes no sense to either of us. But whoever wrote it was scared. I don’t know how I could tell, but I did.

         One of the pages had drawings of a bunch of eyes. Different sizes, different shapes, just eyes everywhere. And words. Words that sent a fresh set of shivers down my spine. THEY’RE ALWAYS WATCHING.

         This guy was scared out of his mind.

         Eventually, the writing stopped. Just one, neatly printed sentence on a blank page.

         I never want to leave.

         Lyla let out a curse, squeezing my hand tighter. “What the hell does that mean? What is that?”

         I swallowed hard. This whole place was wrong. Like a dream I couldn’t get out of.

         “We have to get out of here,” she said suddenly.

         I nodded. She didn’t need to tell me twice.

         Finding our way back to the living room was a nightmare in itself. Every hall or doorway just led us into an empty bedroom or bathroom. But finally, finally, we found a door that wasn’t left ajar. Not blending into the wallpaper. It was just there—large and wooden and heavy.

         Neither of us had to say anything. We knew this was the way out.

         Lyla turned the doorknob and led me out.

         Onto a field. Light blue stretched out above us, no clouds and no sun in sight.